


Stories From the Shadows

by CrystalLifestream (AlleyCatSunflower)



Series: Shreds and Patches [4]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Oneshot Prompts Challenge, Relationship Study, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyCatSunflower/pseuds/CrystalLifestream
Summary: A collection of moments when Tseng and Aerith's lives intersect, with varying levels of canon-compliance. Each installment will most likely be out of order and with a different theme, so I'm not rating the work as a whole. Instead, I'll include more precise rating information in the summary at the beginning of each chapter. Contains various spoilers.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tseng
Series: Shreds and Patches [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116677
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. Uniquely Suited

**Author's Note:**

> All prompts in this story are taken from [this list](https://www.deviantart.com/british-prophetess/art/20-Themes-Challenge-Love-and-Relationships-288403303). I'm doing them out of order, but I will do all of them eventually.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character/relationship study. Rated G.

She fits him in a way he never thought anyone could.

Tseng is ink on paper, cold and indelible, crisp and clear and well-defined. He is oaken desks with oaken drawers, and oaken doors to silent hallways. He is too much air conditioning and not enough natural light. He is black coffee with whiskey, drunk late at night, when the rest of the world is sleeping. Sometimes, he is neon signs and ruination, though this is never what he chooses. He'd rather be streetlights shining white on spotless asphalt, wet from mist.

Aerith is wind in flowers, changeable and alive, shifting with the seasons and the weather. She is the moon in all its phases and, when it suits her, the stars; her myriad facets are constellations, connecting meaning and instinct. She is at once pure as rain and earthy as the soil it dampens. She is the sky she fears so much, now bright and sunny, now dark and foreboding. Less obviously, she is fire and lightning, primal forces barely tamed and flickering in a human form.

If you ask Tseng, the world is lucky that Aerith has chosen to share her abundant warmth and energy rather than use them to destroy men's hearts. (Consciously.)

Together, they are mismatched. Aerith is as likely to scatter Tseng's pages as she is to illuminate them, and there are times his ink runs from being left out in her rain. But he needs her, _needs_ all her little contradictions and inconsistencies and God, her changefulness is what keeps him going some days. Because, try as he might, Tseng cannot keep her confined. Every time he thinks she's close to surrender, she electrifies him all over again, and wrests herself from his grasp.

Still, Tseng likes to think Aerith needs him, too. It's a foolish fantasy, one he should not indulge in nearly as often as he does, but he imagines that her light is not so brilliant without the darkness he brings along. And she neither lies about nor conceals the way she observes him just as closely, whenever they cross paths—a fact which has informed Tseng's decision to avoid doing so whenever possible.

After all, Tseng has led himself into temptation more than enough already, even to the point of considering choosing Aerith over his duty. But Aerith, he thinks, wouldn't like that. She knows her place is in her flowerbed or in her garden, indistinguishable from the blossoms she tends so carefully. And Tseng's, as always, is in the shadows, watching her.


	2. Sunken Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character/relationship study. Rated G.

Aerith thinks about the Turks—and particularly Tseng—more than they can ever know.

She knows their footsteps by now, the hints as to who is watching her. Reno comes in unexplained noises, all at once and sometimes loud as he moves to follow wherever she leads, but he's never where she looks for him. Rude comes in measured steps and shifting weight and the occasional cough or creak, and moves as little as possible. Cissnei is quieter, but sighs now and again, sad and wistful in a way that makes Aerith wish they could talk more often.

Tseng is silent. If Aerith hears nothing, like she hears tonight, she knows that he must be there. Tonight, her thoughts have wandered almost as far afield as she has. She's near the border of Sector Five, perhaps too near for comfort, but Tseng hasn't intervened yet. Still, she knows he will if she takes another few steps. So instead, Aerith just stands there, staring up at what she can see of the sky.

She wishes she could see the stars.

That desire dislodges a thought somewhere deep inside her, a comparison that has been waiting to be realized for some time, and it tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. "Hey, Tseng," says Aerith, and there is no response. Good; he is there. "Are you an angel?"

There is a pause, and then Tseng slides out of the shadows and melts into the streetlight. If Aerith could capture the moment in art, it would look like chiaroscuro as painted by the Old Masters, those who painted angels the way she imagines them. Yes, he must be, even though what he says is, "No."

Aerith smiles at the response, approaching, and likes the way Tseng looks at her. Wary, like he's barely standing his ground, like she's the one with the power here. "But angels are supposed to be agents who answer to the ones who built this place, sent down to keep law and order," she says, glancing up again, more at the plate than the sky beyond it this time. "And some of them are guardians, right?"

Tseng doesn't reply at first, but the way he crosses his arms means he's considering it, if only for a moment. "Angels are also supposed to be pure and good."

The contradiction is implied more than stated—that Tseng is _not_ pure and good, and therefore cannot be an angel—but Aerith hears it, and hums. "I don't know about that," she says thoughtfully, looking back over at him, searching what she can see of his expression. "There are a lot of things you could do that you don't, and they call a conscience the angel on the shoulder."

Aerith can tell she's making Tseng uncomfortable, because he lets out a small sigh. "Are you done?"

"No," says Aerith, and Tseng presses his lips together in resignation. When he doesn't really mind what she's saying, he just stays quiet and leaves her to babble by herself. Trying to end the conversation like that only makes her want to continue it more. "I heard somewhere that angels possess people, because their true forms are too scary. Monstrous, even." She tilts her head. "Maybe that's what you are. Possessed by an angel. Or… fallen."

Tseng just hums, and Aerith smiles as she recognizes how close she is to crossing the line. Reno is reactive and Rude is straightforward and Cissnei is a little too honest, but with Tseng, she has learned to gauge his feelings from the contrast when he shuts down. Because Aerith knows what his face looks like when he's truly cleared his expression, she has come to guess his thoughts from the tiniest sounds and movements.

Aerith steps forward, testing the waters, and Tseng does not step back. Mingling with the wariness is a certain softness Aerith has seen before, on the occasions when she has ventured this close, but can't quite place, and isn't sure she wants to.

"Is it the angel or the human that makes you look at me like that?"

That's Tseng's limit. She can tell, from the coldness taking over his countenance, the way his eyes sharpen and flash. That look makes her breath catch, more in excitement than fear—an intangible force pinning her to an invisible wall, as if he's holding her at knifepoint. "You are less human than I," says Tseng, an answer and a warning in one.

A twinge of pain corrupts the thrill of stepping over the line, and Aerith scowls. She hates it when any of the Turks remind her of her race, imposing that arbitrary distance between them, but she knows they only do it as a last resort. That, in itself, is enough to make the ache in her heart worthwhile. "You're right," says Aerith, turning around, and adds in a mutter, " _I_ must be a demon."


	3. Jasmine and Lemon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-relationship romantic tension, rated G.

From what Aerith can tell, Tseng is the only Turk who works around the clock.

Cissnei tells Aerith when she's going on breaks, or at least gives her a sign, and Reno acts like he's off-duty so often that Aerith doesn't care if he ever actually is. Rude is consistent in imposing some distance between them, but there are still times he can't be found; Aerith assumes he's on break. But Tseng always seems to be out there, somewhere, watching. Even on days like this.

It's not terribly uncomfortable, but it's still rainy, in one of those odd storms that come in summer. Aerith never knows how Tseng fares in the rain, but at least when it's cold, his suit serves more of a purpose. As it is, she doubts he even carries an umbrella. Opening one is too conspicuous for someone whose job description is almost identical to that of a spy.

"Hey, Tseng," says Aerith aloud, on the outskirts of Sector Five, debating whether she should go to her church. The flowers are probably doing fine, drinking in the rain through the hole Zack left… or at least, what rain the plate allows to pass. "Do you want to get a drink?"

Tseng slides out from somewhere behind her, and she turns to find him standing there with crossed arms, looking as though he's been there the whole time. "Depends on the drink."

Aerith hums, glancing up at the sky, and places her hands behind her back. "Tea?"

If Tseng has an opinion, Aerith can't tell it from his expression, and waits patiently for his answer. At least she can be sure she'll get one, since Tseng probably doesn't want to stand out in the rain like this for too long, even if it's more like a mist at the moment than anything else. Sure enough, he sighs, making to move. "Let's go, then."

It's as much of an affirmative as Aerith can hope for, and she decides there are more important places to be than church. She smiles, moving to Tseng's side, taking his elbow and leading him to the local ramshackle café. It's a slow day today, no one having as much of a use for caffeine in early afternoon. Or rather, those who need it are all far from the slums by now, visiting some similar place topside.

"Oh, hello, Aerith," says the old lady at the counter. Megan. "It's good to see you." Her eyes slide over to Tseng, hanging back in the doorway. "Who's this?"

"A friend," says Aerith easily, setting Megan at ease with a smile, but doesn't feel like elaborating any more, and continues before she can ask any further questions. "I'll take my usual, please." Megan nods—she knows 'the usual' is black tea with lemon and honey—and Aerith glances back at Tseng, silhouetted in the doorway. "What do you want?"

"Jasmine, if you have it," says Tseng, more decisively than Aerith expected.

Megan raises her eyebrows. "Expensive taste," she says, and Aerith makes to take out her wallet, but a movement in her peripheral vision distracts her, and she turns her head to see Tseng striding forward. Aerith means to protest when she looks up at him, but instead, her eyes catch on the water droplets shining silver in his hair and on his suit, and she doesn't stop him from laying down the gil.

Thankfully, Megan is already busying herself and doesn't notice, or Aerith is sure she'd make some sort of remark on their so-called _friendship_. "Take a seat wherever you like," is all she says, and Aerith remembers to move, glancing around in search of a good place to sit. "I'll be there with your tea soon."

Aerith leads the way outside, and Tseng follows, though there's more of a frown than usual on his face. "Outside?"

"If you can stand the rain, so can I," says Aerith, smiling, and takes off her jacket to sit on. It isn't cold today, after all; just wet. "Come on, sit down."

Tseng just looks at her dubiously, but seems about to do so… until something buzzes in his pocket. Taking out his phone, Tseng looks at it and immediately departs, raising it to his ear as he goes. The timing is so perfectly terrible Aerith would have accused him of falsifying the call if she hadn't heard the vibration.

Oh well. At least Tseng gives Aerith something of a view when he leaves, combing his hair back with his fingers, at home in the rain and gloom. He looks almost unrealistically sharp, like always, even in a rundown place like this. (It's been long enough since Zack stopped responding to Aerith's letters that she feels she's earned the right to think such things.)

Aerith is surprised Tseng returns at all, honestly, but it takes long enough that their tea arrives before he does. In a sense, it's a good thing he took so long, because deflecting Megan's questions wouldn't have been any easier for his presence. It took her almost five minutes to get her to leave, and she suspects that time would have doubled or tripled with Tseng there to be interrogated.

"Hello," says Aerith, raising her cup, as though Tseng's path crossed hers by coincidence. "Fancy meeting you here. Do you want some tea?"

Rather than respond in words, Tseng just takes off his suit jacket and seats himself across from Aerith with a sigh, examining the color of his tea and removing the teabag. Pinching it between his fingers without flinching, even though it steams from the heat, he sets it aside and takes a sip. From the slight softening of his expression, Aerith thinks he likes it.

But her thoughts are otherwise occupied. Never having seen Tseng without that jacket before, Aerith can't help but let her eyes linger on him a little longer than usual. Without Zack to fulfill her fantasies, her imagination has run somewhat wilder lately, leaving her restless and wanting and only a little bit guilty. After all, Aerith can't afford to dwell too much on the past, because she doesn't know how much of a future she'll have.

Mostly to distract herself before Tseng notices she's staring, Aerith takes a sip of her tea—perfect as usual. Part of her wants to say something, but making conversation on top of this feels like too much of a risk, like he'll get up and leave if she says the wrong thing. It's miracle enough that he accepted her invitation. So she settles for sitting with him in unusually amicable silence, watching the rain, and thinking how she might ask Tseng for a different kind of drink someday.


	4. Ask Questions Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual tension. Rated T for mild profanity and vaguely suggestive themes.

Aerith is being followed.

Not that she isn't used to it, of course. The Turks have been following her since she's left her mother's house, to the point that she never feels like prey anymore. But when it's a male stranger, especially in Wall Market—there are some things she can't buy in Sector Five—well, even Aerith gets a little bit nervous sometimes.

He's not the scariest man she's ever seen, young and wiry and possibly drunk. She could take him if she had her staff, but everyone knows better than to bring a weapon to Sector Six, so she left it at home. She doesn't fear defying convention in most parts of the slums, but she isn't about to tangle with Don Corneo's men. She's on enough watch lists already without adding the literal mafia to the mix.

It's best to stick to crowded streets in times like these, so Aerith wanders along the main street, pausing now and then so she can pretend to study cheap trinkets glinting in flickering neon light, or look at the menus at the food stalls that only take her appetite away. Glancing around in the hopes that the Turks hauled her stalker away, she still sees him, hanging back, looking hungry.

Damn it. Aerith doesn't have all night; Mom will kill her if she gets home too late.

Maybe she should have told her where she was going, but she didn't want to end up in another argument about whether or not she's too young to go shopping in Wall Market. (Mom has been making the same case for years, but there are a lot more holes in it now that Aerith is nineteen and not exactly a virgin anymore—not that _she_ would know that.) The more desirable solution is to get home sooner rather than later, but she has to rely on the Turks to step in before she can do that.

Who's supposed to be on duty, anyway? It's hard to tell as clearly in areas Aerith doesn't know as well, but with a delay like this, her money's on Reno. Trust him to take a break at the very moment he needs to do his job. Aerith heaves a sigh, looking back around for something else to do with herself in a crowded area, and hesitates.

Is that… Tseng?

Catching sight of him at the mouth of an alley, Aerith blinks a couple times, as though to clear her eyes of some hallucination. Even as she watches, he withdraws, and Aerith narrows her eyes. That's definitely him, black suit and dark hair blending in with the shadows so that he almost disappears. She'd have expected _Tseng_ to intervene on her behalf much sooner.

Maybe that's why she finds herself following him. To tell him off for not rescuing her.

"Tse—"

Aerith yelps as Tseng grasps her wrist and pins it to the brick wall, and though she struggles on an impulse, he moves in close. Very close. Their bodies are almost pressed together, though it isn't a narrow enough alley that it's necessary, and Aerith can feel Tseng's body heat. For some reason, the realization makes Aerith weaken, and she remembers to breathe.

"Do you trust me, Aerith?" Tseng's voice comes low, intent.

There are a lot of ways Aerith wants to respond, but none of the words make it as far as her mouth. If he's asking something like that, it means there isn't time for him to explain. And besides, Tseng has always had a reason of _some_ kind for everything he's ever done. He's never forced himself on her, for one thing, though she's heard from Reno that he restrains himself only because he'd get in trouble otherwise. Aerith has never quite believed him, but an increasingly more vocal part of her wishes that were true.

Maybe she's about to find out.

"Yeah," says Aerith, breathless already, and Tseng leans in like a falcon for the kill.

Tseng may be cold, but his kiss is anything but, and Aerith likes to think she's a match for that. He's seen more than enough of her dates with Zack to know why she isn't playing hard-to-get or acting coy. She knows her way around a kiss, and more than enough to deepen it—liking the way she can feel the shift in Tseng's breathing, more telling than any expression. But Aerith can only guess how and where _he_ got this experience. She never would have guessed this passion lay beneath the surface, especially so close at hand.

Aerith doesn't want Tseng to pull away, but he does eventually, though stays close, breathing hot and shallow. "If we're lucky, he should be gone by now," says Tseng, in a voice Aerith can feel more than hear, and releases her wrist. Until she feels the pressure lessen, she forgot he was still holding it like that, her hand totally relaxed in his grip. "Will you check?"

Turning her head to look out at the crowd, Aerith feels herself blush as she remembers that they are in public. But lovers in the shadows are everywhere in Wall Market; most people are blind to public displays of affection. None of them are so much as looking their way, and her stalker is loitering around in the distance, looking elsewhere as if searching for another target. "He's still there, but probably not for long," says Aerith, still keeping her eyes on him for now. "Why didn't you—"

Her words are cut off by a gasp as Tseng's lips on her neck freeze her in place, but she doesn't try to get away. The sensation sends electricity through her body, and she bites her lip to keep quiet. "It's hard to be subtle in a crowd," says Tseng, and Aerith shivers as his lips brush her skin. Only belatedly does she realize that he is answering her question. "I couldn't escort him away without someone noticing."

"So… you kissed me?" asks Aerith, and Tseng stops. For a moment, Aerith is afraid that her words will make him retreat.

But he doesn't. "That was the easiest way."

"What do you mean?"

Rather than respond, Tseng starts withdrawing. Before she even knows what she's doing, Aerith slides a hand up his chest and grabs his tie to keep him in place, and he freezes. The kind of explanation she's looking for isn't really one that requires a lot of words; the less space between them, the more clearly she'll understand. "No. Stay."

To her astonishment, Tseng obeys, albeit after a hesitation. Maybe he has less trouble masquerading as her lover in a place where it's as likely for someone to stumble upon a scene like this as upon an ordinary conversation. (She'll have to remember that, in case she wants to try this again.)

After a brief pause, during which Tseng might have been trying to get his bearings, he leans the rest of the way back in, and one of his hands settles on Aerith's waist. "He'd have escalated the situation."

His words are edged with a sigh that brushes against Aerith's skin and makes her shiver. "Yeah?" she asks, sliding her hand from Tseng's tie to the back of his neck, and weaves her fingers in the hair there. It's soft and silky and would make her envious if she were thinking any straighter, but her thoughts are more occupied with appreciating the catch in Tseng's breath.

"Men like him are no better than animals." Tseng brushes his lips closer to Aerith's ear, and—still looking out at the street, albeit through half-closed eyes—she chooses not to tell him that her stalker has vanished. "They think in terms of challenges and territory. If I defended you, he'd only see it as an invitation to fight. But by showing him that you're already mine…"

Tseng trails off. His tone is the closest to uncertain Aerith has ever heard it, but she barely notices it over the sound of her own pulse. _She's already his_. They're not talking dirty, but she can't help but feel like they are. Maybe it's his tone, or the setting, but her spine is tingling in a way it hasn't for more than a year. And damn it, even if she should go home now, she isn't letting Tseng get away as though nothing happened.

"No, Tseng," says Aerith softly, curling her fingers into a fist and tugging his hair to tell him to move back. He complies too quickly for her to pull it properly, which almost disappoints her… until she notices his expression. It's not as obvious as the hunger on that stranger's face, but his eyes are almost sharp enough to rend her dress. It's nice, the thrill of something new and dangerous, but not as nice as turning the tables will be. Standing on her tiptoes, she leans up in an invitation to kiss her again, and smiles. "You're _mine_."


End file.
